


Empathy: From the Top

by HiddenGuardian



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta Read, Betaed, Empathy, Gen, Muslim Character, Other tags to be added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Superheroes, Trauma, how does one tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 17,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21503734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenGuardian/pseuds/HiddenGuardian
Summary: When she wore her mask, she was no longer Shajarah Zaki, a refugee to be pitied.She was a hero. She was Empathy.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 27
Kudos: 23





	1. Panic! At the Art Gallery

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not Muslim, or Middle eastern. I am relying heavily on Google for most information regarding the religion, cultures, and language. If I get something wrong, please do not hesitate to tell me!

Shajarah bounced on the balls of her feet. She was _actually_ here, displaying her art alongside actual well-known and prestigious artists, ready to burst with nervous excitement.

Taslim leaned down to whisper in her ear. “ _I’m proud of you, Sprout._ ”

Shajarah’s chest swelled with pride. “ _Thanks._ ”

He gave her a mock-serious look. “ _Really? You’re not going to tell me off for calling you Sprout?_ ”

Normally, Shajarah _would_ playfully scold her older brother for using her childhood nickname, but people staring at her didn’t usually bug her. When you’re a hijab-wearing Muslim with a foreign sounding accent, a lot of people stare. She was used to it. Tonight, however, Shajarah’s senses alerted her to everything going on around her. It was weird how aware she was of everyone and everything.

“ _Too nervous_. Mr. Davis! Over here!” Shajarah waved at her teacher, who looked odd dressed in a suit and not his usual paint-stained t-shirts.

“Shajarah! How’s it going over here?”

The muted conversations buzzed in her ears.

“She can’t sit still to save her life.” Taslim pressed a hand on her shoulder. “Seriously, I’m getting tired just watching you.”

Shajarah grumbled, and willed herself to be still.

“There’s a lot of big names out there,” Mr. Davis waved his hand over the sea of important-looking people. “You’re going to blow them away with your art.”

_Why is it so warm in here?_

Shajarah glanced back at her own display. Colorful sculptures made of scrap mechanical parts she’d been collecting, wires flowing together forming skyscrapers and landmarks. Unfortunately, the ones permitted into the gallery were the more boring ones. She’d had to leave the robotics behind.

The evening wore on, and Shajarah’s excitement faded, leaving only nerves. The crowd’s dull energy drained her own, the constant, oppressive presence of eyes weighed on her, and the vibrant flowers embroidered on her black salwar kameez irritated her skin to no end. Taslim left her side to grab something to drink, promising to be right back.

“Impressive.” Shajarah’s head snapped up.

_No. Way._

David and Marisol were never going to believe her.

There, examining her wire sculptures, stood _Tony freaking Stark._

“Do these move?”

“I…not these ones....The gallery said ‘No moving pieces’... _yanni,_ I couldn’t go against them…uh...” Shajarah rarely had linguistic mix ups, but her nerves had gotten the better of her.

Luckily, if she confused Mr. Stark, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded along.

“You can’t just go around breaking rules like they don’t apply to you.” He examined one of the sculptures. “Too bad. These events could use some excitement, don’t you think?”

“I…I couldn’t say.”

“Sure you could. Look at them,” He gestured to the crowd, then turned to her. “You seem pretty...what’s the word… _empathetic_.”

Shajarah’s stomach leaped into her throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I just mean, you seem like you’re good at reading people.”

_He didn’t know, did he? He couldn’t possibly…_

“Shajarah! Head’s up.” Taslim tossed her a bottle of water. It bounced off her and fell to the ground. “What’s going on over here?”

_He can’t know. This is bad. Badbadbad._

“Just talking about Shajarah here’s art.”

_Why can’t everyone shut up? I can’t think. Seriously, why is it so warm in here? Are they looking at me? What am I supposed to say? Ican’tbreatheI’mdrowning_

“Shajarah?” Taslim’s hand landed gently on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

_Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_

She bolted, searching for an exit.

_Can’t breathe need air_

_Where am I?_

In the middle of the crowd, Shajarah spun around, desperately searching for the door. Taslim appeared at her side, sitting next to her.

When did she end up on the floor?

_He’s talking. What’s he saying? Taslim, help me. I’m drowning._

Taslim pulled her up, and led her through the crowd.

_Everyone’s looking stop looking stop talking stop_

“...arah? Can you hear me?”

They sat on a bench outside the galley. The brisk November air filled her lungs, and everything came into focus. Her body trembled and her limbs were like lead.

“I-I’m here.” Shajarah met her brother’s gaze, drinking in the fresh air.

“We, uh… We might have a problem.”

* * *

“ _I thought you were being careful!_ ” Taslim yelled.

The anxiety, which had built since Shajarah’s conversation with Mr. Stark, boiled over as soon as their apartment door had shut, before they even turned the lights on. Despite her brother’s apparent fury, Shajarah could sense no fiery anger, only anxiety, pricking her skin all over.

“ _I was! I am!_ ” Shajarah collapsed on the couch.

Taslim ran his hand through his hair. “ _Obviously you weren’t_!”

“ _We don’t even know that he knows! Even if he does, he’s an Avenger, a hero. He’s not going to hurt us._ ”

“ _That’s not the point! If he could figure it out…_ ”

They sat in the dark for a minute, before Taslim sighed. “Just, just go shower. I’m going to make something to eat.”

Her and Taslim looked more like cousins than siblings. They shared dark curly hair, bushy eyebrows, and medium skin tone, but the resemblance stopped there. Where Taslim’s face had grown long and thin, hers had never lost the babyish chubby cheeks. Her dark brown eyes were wider, though Taslim’s shifted colors depending on the lighting. Most people still knew they were siblings, though, simply from how they acted. 

Shajarah walked down the hall to her room. She could hear lights being flicked on and cabinets being rummaged through as she shut her door.

Shajarah’s small room had been made hers over the years. Her bed sat in one corner, with it’s fluffy teal blankets and pile of pillows. Nestled in the middle of it sat her Dabdoob. Above her bed hung drawings of the city, her friends, Taslim, even the Bisharahs. The Bisharahs, Aunty Hana, Uncle Ramiz, and their 26 year old daughter Lamisa, owned the Middle Eastern restaurant Taslim worked at, and were close friends. Lamisa gifted Shajarah a sketchbook for Eid-al-Fitr during her first year in the U.S. The sketchbook sat on her desk, with various pencils, pens, and scrap materials scattered around it. Next to her desk stood her bookshelf, lined with books, pictures, and trinkets.

Shajarah shuffled through her closet, but she didn’t pull out her pajamas. Instead she grabbed her mother’s hijab. Shajarah had saved it all the way from Syria. The golden brown fabric decorated with intricate leafy vines had always inspired a complex mix of comfort and sorrow. She’d kept it hidden, safe in her closet for years, until 5 months ago. She’d altered it, sewing it to slip on and off, instead of being wrapped around her head. She’d added a dark green fabric to mask her face, with mud colored mesh over her eyes.

When she wore it, she was no longer Shajarah Zaki, a refugee to be pitied.

She was a hero. She was Empathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanni is an Arabic filler, used as um, ur, like, you know, etc 
> 
> A Salwar Kameez is a formal outfit worn in the Middle East and South Asia.


	2. Normal is Relative

Empathy jumped from roof to roof, reaching out with her powers, searching for stomach twisting fear. After about a block, she got lucky.

A man being mugged shrunk into the brick wall, eyeing the muggers knife nervously. Terror swirled in her gut, pouring in from the victim, fighting for her attention with the anger and anxiety from the mugger.

She landed in the alleyway a few feet away. “Stop.” 

This is usually when fight-or-flight instincts kicked in for the criminals. The mugger chose fight, charging at Empathy with a pocket knife aimed at her.

She sidestepped the attack, keeping the attention on her. The mugger thrust the knife at her, and she quickly blocked it. She threw a punch, which he dodged. 

A thud from somewhere around her startled her, and she stumbled. The mugger seized the opportunity, and lunged.

With a split second to react, Empathy reached out, grasping at the mugger’s energy, and seized it. He froze, paralyzed. The knife stooped inches away from her face. She forced his hands open, and the knife clattered to the ground with a loud echo.

She released her hold on the mugger, and he crumpled to the ground, exhausted. Empathy grabbed the knife away, and took a deep breath. Manipulating other people became easier the more she did it. She still debated the morality of her manipulation, but she figured the safety and well-being of one person outweighed _extremely_ short-term paralysis. The stirring mugger groaned on the ground.

Sirens drew closer. Empathy looked over to the victim . 

“Are you okay?”

The guy nodded.

Empathy shot her wires up, and scaled the building as the police cars pulled up.

* * *

Taslim’s irritation hit her as soon as she climbed into the living room.

“I thought I told you to shower.”

”I needed to blow off steam.”

Taslim glared at her. “You know what happens when you overextend yourself.”

“ _We ʾeīh el-moškelah fī kedah_? I’m helping people.”

“Shajarah…” Taslim groaned. “It’s my job to take care of you. I _have_ to keep you safe. You understand that, right? _It’s only you and I._ I can’t do that if you don’t _listen_ to me!”

“This was _your_ ideal in the first place. _You’re_ the one who said I got my powers for a reason. _You’re_ the one who said I should do good in the world. I _am_ listening to you! I…” She took a deep breath, and the tell-tale smell of Taslim’s cooking washed her frustrations away. “Hey, what smells so good?”

Taslim held up a crepe, topped in whipped cream and strawberries. “Movie Night. Despite your childhood obsession with Disney, we still haven’t seen Mulan. I made your favorite. So...Can you take the night off to spend time with your big brother?”

Making a big show of deliberating, Shajarah grinned and plopped on the couch next to him. “Of course.”

“Nuh-uh. Go change. You’re all sweaty.” Taslim turned the T.V. on. A news report about Europe announced some disaster as Shajarah left the room.

One shower and a change of clothes later, Shajarah snuggled into Taslim’s side, letting goofy red dragons and awesome sword fights push her growing sense of foreboding away, if only for a little bit. Eventually, the fatigue that had settled deep in her bones won out, and she fell asleep as all of China celebrated Mulan.

* * *

  
  


“I can’t believe it! Shajarah! That-that’s amazing!” Marisol bounced around Shajarah as they walked to the subway. 

Shajarah kicked a rock. “It _would_ be if I didn’t melt down in front of him.” 

Marisol hugged Shajarah’s arm. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

Shajarah didn’t know how Marisol could be so energetic. Marisol, like Shajarah, huddled in her heavy jacket, hiding with no success from the late November cold.

Nonetheless, Marisol exuded enough energy to power the whole city. The last time Shajarah remembered this much excitement had been Marisol’s confirmation.

“Just think about it. You impressed Tony-I-am-Iron-Man-Stark with _your_ sculptures! That’s an amazing accomplishment, and you should be proud.”

Shajarah grinned sheepishly. “I guess it is pretty awesome.”

“That’s the spirit! Now, c’mon. David’s waiting for us.”

They descended into the subway station, where David was waiting. David, between being a full head taller than the girls and wearing a white kippah against his brown hair, was hard to miss, even on the crowded platform.

David waved them over. “Guys! Over here!”

“Hey. What’s new?” Shajarah asked. “Anything interesting happen yesterday?”

“Don’t even try it, Ms. Zaki.” Marisol playfully scolded. “Tell him about the gallery!”

“Well, there were a lot of snobby people, but the food wasn’t half bad.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Marisol. It was embarrassing.”

“We _just_ went over this. It’s great.” Marisol turned to David. “Iron Man said her sculptures were impressive.”

“That’s pretty cool. Why would it be embarrassing?”

“I had a panic attack right after, in front of everyone. Can you drop it?” Shajarah snapped.

The train pulled up and opened its doors with a hiss. When Shajarah had first ridden the subway, she thought it was a giant snake trying to eat her. She and Taslim ended up arriving late to... 

_Where were we going?_

_The doctor’s office. I needed vaccines for school._

“Are you ready for the history test today?” Shajarah asked.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Shajarah’s stomach twisted, and Marisol blinked. “...We have a test?” 

David sighed. “I’ll help you study. Are you joining us Shajarah?”

“Can’t. I have something else to work on.”

“Ah yes. Your super-secret-can’t-even-tell-your-best-friends project.” David said. “Are you ever gonna show us what you’ve been doing?” 

Shajarah’s super-secret project was kept in a locked diary in her backpack. It contained the designs for her suit and her weapon of choice, as well as problem spots in the neighborhood and notes detailing how her powers worked. There wasn’t a lot she knew for sure, but she knew how she got her powers, and she knew she could never tell her friends. For their own safety.

“Maybe.” Shajarah smiled coyly. “One day.”

* * *

  
  


_Syria, 2012_

_Shajarah always considered the marketplace to be surreal, with the crowded streets and venders shouting for attention, as she clutched her mother’s hand. Things had changed since those days. Mama wasn’t around to do the shopping anymore. The all-important and now dangerous job fell on Ayeesha’s shoulders. Taslim had a different job, burying the dead people in the fields. Half the street was destroyed, and the few people who shopped for necessities had one eye on the sky. Not that it would do any good._

_“What do you think, Shajarah?” Ayeesha held up a date in her hand. “Does this look good?”_

_She shrugged._

_Ayeesha returned the date to its container. “How about-”_

_BOOM._

_A shockwave replaced the air with something sinister. Shajarah grasped Ayeesha’s dress as a fit of coughing wracked her body. Tears formed in her eyes. The sounds of choking bombarded Shajarah. Her head burned. There was a little djinn stomping around in her brain._

_Ayeesha fell to the ground, and the sounds of coughing grew weaker. Still, the air burned her lungs, and in turn her whole body screamed. She was burning alive._

_Is this Jahannam?_

_All around her, gasping and whimpering pressed in on her._

Someone, help us…

_Shajarah struggled against her fading vision._

_She woke to something being pressed to her mouth, air filling her lungs._

_Someone was talking to her in heavily accented Arabic. “Can you hear me?”_

_Something seemed off. Her stomach twisted and her head pounded and her skin being pricked all over and her body was burning. Everything was just...too much._

_She blinked her eyes, bringing the sight in front of her into focus. A white lady leaned over her. The lady wore a mask over her mouth._

_She called something over her shoulder in English, before turning back to Shajarah. “Everything is going to be alright. We are going to help you.”_

_Shajarah turned her head. Her sister lay on the ground a few feet away. “Ayeesha?”_

_Someone else examined Ayeesha, before they shook their head. They pulled a white sheet over her sister’s body._

_“Everything is going to be alright.” The lady repeated._

Liar.

_Exhaustion washed over her, and she woke again in a giant tent. She saw doctors running around, and the smell burned her nose. White sheets obscured too many._

_Taslim was at her side. He didn’t say anything. He hugged her close to his chest._

_By the end of the day, Shajarah was the only one left. Her head pounded with static. It grew stronger when the doctors hovered around her, speculating in English and asking questions in stilted Arabic, and weaker when they finally left her alone._

_Shajarah didn’t answer the questions. She knew better. Something had changed in her. Something powerful. Taslim knew it, too. Shajarah was now dangerous, and she was in danger._

* * *

  
  


Shajarah’s day passed in a blur.

A pop-quiz on trigonometry surprised her class. By the end of it, her skin felt as though it would _actually_ crawl off of her, and she couldn’t focus. 

She’d had Art yesterday, so today was Theater. They did improv exercises, which helped Shajarah relax.

True to their conversation on the train, Marisol and David studied for the History test, while Shajarah worked on her designs. 

The History test itself went great. The usual test-stress from her classmates twisted her stomach a little, but it seemed like most everyone had been prepared.

Finally, after stepping out to do her noon prayer, Shajarah collapsed in her seat at lunch. “I hate mornings.”

“Woah there, Garfield.” David said.

“Pretty sure he hated Mondays, not mornings.” Marisol popped a grape into her mouth. “Besides, logically speaking, if Garfield hates Mondays, he would love Fridays. And since today is Friday…”

David held his hands up in a time-out. “Hold up. Logically? You were _just_ telling me about how you think some version of yourself cloned a bunch of you, and now there’s a whole colony of Marisols living under New York.”

Marisol slammed her fist on the table. “Prove to me there aren’t!”

Engineering was next. Shajarah slipped one of two metal bracelets out of her backpack. The bracelets served as her weapon and as her transportation. A wire could shoot out, and she could manipulate them to wrap around something, or, if she needed, whip someone across the face. She had practiced, so not to cause permanent damage. When fighting crime, she tried to diffuse the situation with her powers, but she could definitely hold her own in a fight.

“Ms. Zaki, the assignment was robot coding, not jewelry making.” Her teacher said dryly. 

_Oops_

They started reading _1984_ in Literature, ran laps in Gym, studied preterite vs. imperfect in Spanish, and finally…

“It’s the weekend!” Marisol exclaimed as they collected their stuff from their lockers.

Shajarah stuffed a textbook into her bag. “Yep. Just like every week. Funny how that works.”

“Ha. _Ha_. Do you want to go to the library? I hear they just added video editing software, so we could totally work on an animation.”

Shajarah’s phone vibrated. “Animation? Don’t you think we’re busy enough?” She checked her phone. A text from Taslim: _**Come home. Now.** _

“Hold on a sec. Go on without me.”

**_Shajarah: Are you in danger?_ **

**_Taslim: Not at the moment. There’s someone here to see you._ **

**_Shajarah: Who?_ **

**_Taslim: Who do you think?_ **

_Great. Just great._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We ʾeīh el-moškelah fī kedah=So what?
> 
> Jahannam is the Islamic version of Hell
> 
> A djinn is a spirit made of fire without smoke


	3. This is a Good Thing, Right?

The tension in the living room could be cut with a knife.

Most kids would be thrilled to have Tony Stark sitting on their couch, but the sight just filled Shajarah with dread. She didn’t need the heavy feeling in her chest to tell her Taslim felt the same. Shajarah sighed and began hanging up her coat and slipping off her boots.

Mr. Stark pointed to Taslim. “So he knows.”

Shajarah nodded. “Good. That’ll make this easier.”

“And what exactly is this?” Taslim asked coolly.

“I have something to discuss with Shajarah.” Mr. Stark waved her over. “Come. Sit. Your brother made tea.”

Shajarah sat down on one of the chairs across from the couch. Taslim set a mug in front of her on the coffee table. “Could I have a moment with her?

With a forced smile, Taslim stood up. _“I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”_

Watching her brother walk away, Mr. Stark set his cup down. “I’m usually more of a coffee person, but that’s not half bad. I’m sure you know I didn’t come here for a tea party.”

“What _did_ you come here for?”

“I’ll get to that in a second. Retoricale question, you’re the empath running around the city, right? You knew that I knew, though. Sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Shajarah stared at him.

“I gotta say, you’ve done great so far, considering your resources. Those bracelets, the ones you use to shoot wires, you make those yourself?”

She nodded.

“And the paralyzing thing, what is that? Targeted sound waves?”

“I’m not quite sure myself. Ever since I got my powers, y’know, my strength, my healing, I’ve had this...this other sense. Like, I knew before I opened the door, I knew there was someone else in here, and I knew my brother wasn’t happy.”

“I had a feeling he didn’t like me. I’m getting the idea you don’t, either.”

Shajarah didn’t say anything.

“I wouldn’t like me, either. If I had to guess, I’d say whatever gave you your powers messed with your bioelectricity. That’s what I thought it was. Of course, I wouldn’t know for sure unless I did an MRI, and I get the feeling you wouldn’t be fond of that idea.”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Last time I saw something like this, there was a lot more fire involved.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, not important. I gotta know, why?”

“Why what?”

Mr. Stark glanced at her. “Why are you Empathy? What drives you to climb out that window every night? What’s your M.O.?”

“I, uh…”

“Surely you must know why you’re doing this?”

“Well…” Shajarah stared into her tea, hoping the answer would float up from the depths of her mug. “I’ve seen a lot of bad things happen to a lot of people, and I always felt powerless. 6 year olds can’t stop wars, y’know?

“I thought the bad things would stop happening to us when we left, but I was wrong. Not one day goes by where I don’t think about all the things we left behind, good and bad. It was too much and… I did something bad. Really bad. But Taslim, he reminded me that things happen for a reason. I survived everything for a reason, I got my powers for a reason…”

“And that reason is to help people.”

“Yeah.”

“So it’s a sense of duty for you? A debt to be repaid for surviving?”

“Not exactly. More like, if I can stop more bad things from happening, if I can prevent one kid from growing up scared like I did, I should.”

He nodded. “Looking out for the little guys, making the world a better place, all that jazz.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You’ll get along great with Spider-Man.”

“Huh?”

“Do you have a passport?”

Shajarah knit her eyebrows together. “Um…yeah?”

“Have you ever been to France?”

“Hold on a second! I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“You said you help people, right?”

“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with France?”

Mr. Stark cocked an eyebrow. “You haven’t been watching the news, have you?”

Shajarah shook her head.

“I’ll give you the official rundown. Rogue enhanced individuals have been attacking seemingly at random across Europe yadda yadda. I’m in charge of bringing them down.”

“Let me guess. There’s more to the story.”

Mr. Stark nodded. “You catch on quick. We’re still trying to discern a pattern, but the attacks aren’t random. I believe their base of operations is in France.”

“Why’d you come to me?”

“Since the Accords, the Avengers are kinda short-staffed. So, what do you say?”

Shajarah contemplated what this might mean. It was a great opportunity, but how much control would she lose? People needed her. She couldn’t stand by.

The best and the worst decisions are made in a split second.

“I’ll talk it over with my brother, but… I’m in.”

Mr. Stark grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“I have one condition, though.”

Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow.

Shajarah took a deep breath. “I don’t work for you. I can back down at anytime, and when we return, I get to continue doing my thing. All due respect, I just… don’t want to be roped into something I don’t what to be a part of.”

Mr. Stark stared at her for a second, then nodded. “Boundaries. That’s reasonable.”

“So...do you still want my help?”

“I‘m still here, aren’t I?”

* * *

“I don’t like this.” Taslim said.

“Then why did you agree?” Shajarah pointed to her charger. “Hand me that, will you?”

He handed it to her, and she packed it away. “I agreed because you’re a hero. This is what you do. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Honestly, I don't like it either. Look on the bright side. You can make goo-goo eyes at Lamisa in peace while I’m gone.”

Taslim gave her a playful shove. “How can I think about such things when my baby sister is traveling overseas to be an Avenger?”

“I don’t think I’m an actual Avenger.”

The mood fell. The distance and time taunted them. Since they moved to New York, they had been on their own. Now things were changing, for better or worse. The looming trip was the catalyst, and the uncertainty bred butterflies in her stomach. Taslim’s own nerves didn’t help.

“Is that everything?” Taslim asked.

“Clothes, hijab, suit, pajamas, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, hair ties, shampoo, conditioner, sketchbook, homework, pencils, prayer mat, charger… I think that’s everything.”

“What about Dabdoob?” Taslim held up her worn stuffed bear.

Dabdoob had been her companion since she was 2. She had held him tight all the way from Syria to New York. He was the only other thing, besides her mother’s hijab, that she had from her old life.

“Of course, Dabdoob.” She grabbed and packed her bear in her bag.

“Now you’re ready.”

“I don’t feel ready.”

Taslim pulled her into a hug. “Me neither.” He held her out to arms length. “But you’re going to do great, Inshallah.”

Her phone buzzed. **_Time to go._**

* * *

When Shajarah pictured Spider-Man, he was always at least college age. Someone serious and hardworking. Maybe studying for a law or medical degree. Mr. Stark told her she would be meeting civilian Spider-Man. She’d had a few run-ins with him before, as Empathy. They’d barely spoken 5 words to each other, but they were aware of each other’s presence. She knew he was secretive about his identity, driving various local news outlets up a wall. No pun intended. She’d never thought he’d be her age.

Or making a video diary.

She had been picked up by Happy Hogan, Stark Industries’ Head of Security, accompanied by…

“Peter Parker. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand. Peter was wearing a hoodie over a t-shirt that read _I may be nerdy, but only periodically_ , with nerdy spelled in elements.

“Shajarah Zaki. I uh…don’t like shaking hands with strangers.” She said sheepishly.

“Oh.” He retracted his hand.

Peter had started filming 5 minutes after they left her apartment building, narrating in a gravelly voice. “The Bronx. Home of the Yankees, and…”

“What are you doing?” Shajarah asked.

“Kid, are you seriously doing the video thing again?” Happy called from the driver's seat.

“What? It’s fun!”

“You won’t show it to anyone, right?” She asked.

“Of course not.”

“If he does, I’m gonna smash his phone.”

“So... is your name supposed to be ironic or…?” Shajarah asked.

Happy rolled up the divider.

“Huh. He did the same thing to me last time.” Peter said.

They sat in silence for a minute.

“The Bronx is the birthplace of hip-hop.” Shajarah said suddenly.

Peter stared at her.

“For your video. If you want a fun fact, The Bronx is the birthplace of rap and hip-hop.” Shajarah explained quickly.

“Coooool! So, do you like hip-hop?”

She shrugged. “Does _Hamilton_ count?”

* * *

Shajarah gaped at the private jet. She hadn’t even been on a plane since late 2012, when she’d left behind everything she’d ever known. Daunting as it was, Taslim had distracted her, telling her about all the things they would do in New York.

_“We’ll find a house, and I’ll get a job, and you’ll go to school. You’ll make lots of friends, and we’ll be safe. You can even decorate your bedroom however you like.”_

Taslim must’ve been just as terrified at the prospect of rebuilding their lives alone, but Shajarah never noticed. She only remembered his promises of school and friends and a home.

“C’mon. Grab your bag. We don’t have all day.” Happy’s command snapped Shajarah out of her head, and she scrambled to do what he said.

She followed Peter up the steps of the plane, and looked around. Peter had begun filming again, chattering on about how cool everything was, and annoying Happy.

“You’ve been on this plane before, no need to film everything. Now, sit down, both of you.” Happy looked over to her. “Have you ever flown anywhere before?”

Shajarah took a seat. “Once.”

Happy nodded, and took a seat on the other end of the cabin. Peter took a seat across the aisle from her.

“So, where did you go?” Peter asked.

“What?”

He lowered his phone. “You said you’ve flown before. Where did you go?”

“I plead the fifth.” She pulled her sketchbook out of her bag, hoping he’d take the hint.

“You like to draw? That’s awesome! My friend MJ likes to draw, too. She draws people in crisis. So, what are you drawing?” He leaned over, and Shajarah tilted the sketchbook so he couldn’t see.

“Whoa! Ever heard of personal space?”

“Oh, sorry.” The jet had started to ascend, and Peter switched focus to the windows, still filming.

Shajarah sighed, and looked at her sketch. A happy family of five. Three had no faces, instead marks from where they’d been drawn and erased again and again as Shajarah battled with her memory. She decided there were few things in the world as quietly tragic as a forgotten face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ishallah= God willing


	4. Hotel? Trivago.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for a short chapter this week. Also, nightmares.

Shajarah’s eyelids weighed a ton by the time Happy corralled her and Peter into the hotel in Lyon, France. The cold morning air did little to energize her. There was a word for this, but Shajarah couldn’t summon it from the depths.

“I’ll be right next door if there’s an emergency. _Only_ if there’s an emergency. Keep the volume down.” Happy left her to explore the gigantic hotel room.

The room made her home look like a shoebox, and Shajarah was pretty sure she would get lost if she wasn’t careful. Between the size of the room, the fancy decorations, and the fact she was in France, Shajarah suddenly felt like a little kid. She knew what she had to do.

After opening a few doors, she found the bathroom. Standing at the sink, Shajarah removed her hijab, and unpinned the low bun her she’d tied her hair in. Running her hands loosely through her hair, she resolved to brush the tangled mess out later. She took a few deep breaths, and centered herself.

 _Bismillah_.

Shajarah turned the water on. She washed each of her hands three times, focusing on the feel of the cool water on her skin. She used her hands to bring water to mouth. She rinsed her mouth three times. She then wet her finger and washed her nose three times. She cupped her hands, letting the water fill them, and brought the water to her face three times. She moved on to her arms, her head, her feet, and her ears, washing each three times. Shajarah took a deep breath, and recited du’as, letting the words ground her. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and rewrapped her hijab around her head before stepping out.

Shajarah moved to the bedroom, and dug her prayer mat out of her bag. She began her Maghrib, following the familiar movements and reciting her prayer. After she finished, she grabbed her copy of 1984 and got started on the reading assignment.

Winston was swept up in the frenzy of The Hate when a knock at the door drew Shajarah abruptly back to reality.

After a quick glance at a mirror hanging on the wall to make sure no hairs snuck out, she peeked out the peephole. Peter stood on the other side, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Shajarah’s eyebrows knit together, and she swung the door open. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged. “Jet lag.”

“Jet lag! That’s the word!” Peter jumped, and Shajarah cleared her throat. “I kinda forgot the word earlier.”

Peter nodded. “Ohh. So, you excited for tomorrow? Or, technically, later today?”

“I guess.” She stepped out into the hall.

While Peter seemed trustworthy enough, Shajarah wasn’t keen on the idea of being alone in a room in a foreign country with a guy she didn’t know, superhero or not.

“Did you see your new suit yet?”

“My what?”

“It’s somewhere in there. These rooms are huge!” Peter stretched his arms out. “It’s crazy, right?”

“A new suit?”

“Oh, right. Mr. Stark made a new suit for me when I first fought with him a few months ago. Back when Captain America went berserk. He probably made you a new one, too.”

Shajarah nodded. “It’ll take me like, a week to find.”

“I swear, there’s a door to Narnia somewhere in my room.”

Shajarah snorted, then froze. Someone’s irritation burned in her stomach.

“What’s going on out here?” Happy asked.

Peter and Shajarah scrambled back to their respective rooms, leaving Happy to grumble angrily about teenagers.

* * *

After Happy chased her back to her room, Shajarah said her Isha’a prayers, brushed her hair, and set her alarm. She then laid down on the extremely fluffy bed, which promptly swallowed her. After wrestling with the covers and pillows, she sighed and closed her eyes.

A few times a week, Shajarah would wake up to Taslim’s fear twisting like a knife in her stomach. There wasn’t much she could do about it. Her therapist had told her to let him sleep. Sometimes the nightmares woke him up, and he would get an early start on the day. Shajarah was always herded back to bed, and urged to get more sleep. She almost never dealt with nightmares herself.

Almost.

Another wave crashed over her, salt filling her lungs. Shajarah fought to break the surface. As soon as she gasped for air, another wave pushed her back down. The burning in her limbs and lungs did nothing to stave off the invading cold. She sank through the ocean, and music started playing from somewhere.

Heart pounding, Shajarah launched up with a yelp and toppled off the bed, taking the sheets with her. When the world came into focus, she realized her alarm was blaring simple song above her, and she took a few deep breaths to calm down.

_Time to get to work._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bismillah= “In the name of Allah”, said by Muslims before an undertaking 
> 
> The thing Shajarah’s doing with the water is called Wudu, which is an Islamic purification ritual done before prayers.
> 
> Maghrib and Isha’a are the last two prayers of the day.


	5. Team Player

Shajarah’s morning routine didn’t change just because it was almost noon, though technically, it was 4:45 a.m. back in New York, time to get up. Her therapist had told her many times sticking to a routine can help ground you after panic attacks and nightmares. It took longer than she cared to admit, but she eventually pulled herself off the floor. She showered, brushed her hair, got dressed, and prayed. After the required prayers, Shajarah added an extra request.

_Please, grant me strength and guidance. Grant me courage. Help me to do good._

By the time she finished her prayers, the shaking in her legs faded, and her pulse steadied. Today was going to be an ‘off’ day, spent going through the motions. 

_Keep busy._

Shajarah occupied herself by reciting old scripts from past plays she'd been in. Another trick her therapist recommended. She had some time to kill before the mission, so she explored the hotel room, and found a metal case with a note attached in the living room. 

_A minor upgrade- T.S._

She popped open the case, and there it was. A new suit.

 _Her_ suit.

Feeling the fabric, Shajarah admired it. The leafy designs were the same, but the fabric was stretchier, and, judging from the holographic diagrams displayed from the case, better equipped. 

The green dress came down to just above her knees over brown loose leggings and long-sleeved shirt. The tree she had designed on her original centered on her chest. The hijab and mask had the same design, but they were lighter, easier to see through and breathe. 

There was the addition of padded green gloves, and new wire shooters. 

Shajarah dug her old mask out, and grabbed a sewing kit from one of the drawers. She fell into a quick rhythm, undoing the stitches on the hijab, and finally holding up the fabric. A part of Mama she kept with her. She folded the hijab into a scarf, and wrapped it around her waist. She pulled her new suit on, and looked in a mirror.

She was ready

* * *

“Vision. How nice of you to join us.” Mr. Stark said dryly. 

Colonel Rhodes clutched his chest. “Jesus, you give me the creeps when you do that.” 

Vision, who just walked through the wall to their base of operations, regarded the inhabitants of the room thoughtfully. “So sorry. I had business to attend-“

Spider-Man interrupted. “How do you do that? Is it like some kind of phase shifter or a quantum tunneling device-” 

Mr. Stark rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Kid. Can we all stay focused please? FRIDAY, give me the battle map.”

A holographic display came to life in the center of the room, detailing an inconspicuous looking farm-house with layers of labyrinths hiding below it.

“This used to be a Hydra base, back in WWII. It fell into disuse after the Allies liberated France.”

“How’d you find it?” Colonel Rhodes asked.

“My satellites picked up energy readings similar to Project Extremis.”

“Hold up, like those guys back in 2012? With the fire and spontaneous explosions?” 

“Yep.” Mr. Stark popped the p. “My theory is Hydra took up the project after we dismantled AIM. They’re probably trying to rebuild their super soldier supply after Zemo killed them all a few months ago.”

“We’re going to fight Hydra?! Cool!” Spider-Man said. “But what’s Extremis? And what’s AIM?”

“If my memory is correct, AIM was a scientific research development agency specializing in neurological and biological chemistry.” Vision said.

Empathy’s blood ran cold. “Like chemical weapons?”

Colonel Rhodes looked at her. “Tony? Please tell me you didn’t recruit another kid.”

“Rhodey, meet Empathy.” Empathy gave a polite nod. “To answer your question, AIM never got that far. Extremis was their main project. It unlocked the unused bioelectricity in the brain to regenerate severed limbs.”

“Like starfish?”

Mr. Stark sighed. “Yes, Spider-kid-“

“Spider-Man.”

“Spider-kid. Like starfish.”

“Except starfish don’t randomly explode.” Colonel Rhodes added

“Neither do our culprits. Their temperatures sits between 100-104. The true danger lies in their ability to bioelectrically paralyze their opponents.”

“Oh, well that’s much better.” 

“Don’t worry. Vision doesn’t have bioelectricity. I reinforced our suits to act as a muffle for the effects, and programmed autopilot contingencies if that doesn’t work.”

“How do you plan on containing them until they can be properly subdued?” Vision asked.

“That’s where Empathy here comes in.”

All heads turned to her.

“...Me?”

* * *

The goal was to secure the ‘Hydralings” and any info relating to AIM or Hydra.

Mr. Stark’s voice crackled over the comms. _“Is everyone in position?”_

Everyone checked in. Empathy focused on the barn from her vantage point in the trees.

_“Vision, move in.”_

Vision phased through the wall of the hideout. His current job was to disable any initial security measures that could give them away, as well as quietly unlock the door.

' _Can’t blast your way in every time'_ Mr. Stark had said.

Adrenaline and waiting don’t mix well. Hours must have passed before Vision opened the door. 

_“Don’t pat yourself on the back yet. Hard part’s still not done. We’ll lure them up. Spidey, stay out here, web up anyone who isn’t on our side. Empathy, stick with him. I’ll call you two in when it’s your turn.”_

“So now we wait.” Spider-Man said with a sigh. 

They didn’t have to wait long. The sound of repulsors grew closer and closer.

“You ready?” Spidey asked.

“Can’t afford not to be.”

The barn exploded, splintered wood flying everywhere. Empathy instinctively covered her face with her arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this isn’t part of the plan.” Spidey said.

The fighting shook the ground beneath them. They were getting closer.

Empathy’s head swam. Fear and anger swirled in her gut, and for the first time in a long while, she couldn’t tell what was hers and what wasn’t. “What should we do?”

A man, maybe 25, burst up from the wreckage. Scorched jeans and a tattered t-shirt hung off his thin frame. His eyes almost glowed as the sun began to set.

“Our jobs.” Spider-Man shot a web at the guy.

Heart pounding, Empathy whipped her wires across the guy’s face. Spidey shot a second web up into a tree, and swung around behind their opponent, knocking him face-first on the ground. Pulling himself up, the man charged. 

Empathy’s limbs grew heavy with a familiar feeling. The swirling in her gut stopped, replaced with nothingness.

She managed to jump out of the way, barely avoiding their attacker. It was like moving through molasses. She accidentally hit Spider-Man and sent them tumbling to the ground.

She slowly pulled herself up, noting Spider-Man wasn’t doing the same.

_The true danger lies in their ability to bioelectrically paralyze their opponents._

“ _Allaenat ealayk.”_ Empathy hissed. “Spidey, get up!”

The guy charged again. Help was coming, but not fast enough. She drew in a deep breath

_Two can play that game._

Empathy reached out and grabbed the guy’s energy, and seized it. He slowed down, and dropped to his knees. She did the same, focusing on her task. 

Regaining his movement, Spidey pulled himself to his feet and webbed the guy up, properly securing him to a tree. He dropped to the ground next to Empathy, panting. The guy passed out, dropping his claim on her energy. She was still numb. Her mind came unattached, like she would float away.

“You okay?” Spidey asked.

“Yeah, jus’ need a minute.” 

She collapsed backwards as the world faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allaenat ealayk = This has a few different translations, but in this context, it means damn it
> 
> I might not have a chapter ready to post next week, with the holidays and all, but I'll try to get one out over break.
> 
> Thank you for your continued patience and support!
> 
> At the suggestion of Angsty_Homosexual (Thank you so much for your kind words!) I'll also be working on cross-posting this story over on Wattpad during the break.


	6. Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is being published so late in the day. I had two sleepy puppies on my lap, and everyone knows it's illegal to disturb a dog that fell asleep on you.

The rest of the trip passed  uneventfully.  Mr. Stark benched Empathy and Spider-Man after their fight, though Shajarah  barely  remembered anything after she passed out. 

They’d  been returned  to the hotel to rest and eat before flying home.  Shajarah, Peter, and Happy sat around a table eating breakfast, their packed bags tucked under their seats. 

“That was so awesome! Shajarah froze that guy, and then I was like ‘pew’ and webbed him to a tree, and Mr. Stark was all like ‘Good job’ and…”

“Kid, you can’t eat if you’re talking.” Happy said.

“What if I’m not hungry?” Peter said as his stomach growled.

“Eat.”

Shajarah focused on cutting her crêpe up into bite sized pieces. Her brother’s crepes could beat these crepes up for lunch money, but Taslim wasn’t here. 

Shajarah passed the rest of breakfast with a reluctant conversation with Peter.  She learned his plans for the rest of the weekend (Homework,) His school (Midtown Tech,) and his favorite lego set (Death Star.) Shajarah was less forthcoming, but no one called her on it.  Happy seemed to have tuned them out, and Peter was happy to rattle off about whatever subject came to mind without input from Shajarah. When she realized interrogation wasn't on the table, she finally began to relax.

* * *

“A what?” Shajarah asked.

“An internship. Well, more like a mentorship. Actually, it’s both. A minternship.” Shajarah made a face, and Mr. Stark backtracked. “Not my best word-mashup, but you get the idea.  It all started as a cover for Pete’s extracurriculars, but after the ferry incident and the thing with the plane, I figured why not?”

“I...uh…”

“You don’t have to make a decision right now. You have Happy’s number. Text him by the end of the week. Or sooner, if there’s an emergency.” 

Shajarah nodded.  She knew her answer already, but it would be rude to turn him down without at least pretending to think about it, right?

“I think  that concludes our little chat. Do you need Happy to walk you up?”

“No, I’m good.” She hopped out of the car. “Thank you.”

Shajarah stood on the sidewalk, and watched the Audi drive off into traffic.

* * *

“Are you gonna tell me what’s on your mind, or do I have to use Mrs. Tickles?” Marisol poked Shajarah, who in turn swatted Marisol.

“It’s nothing, knock it off.” She insisted. 

It was Monday morning, and they were walking from the subway to their school.

“That’s it. Here comes the tickle monster!”

“Hey, stop that! David, help!”

“You brought this on yourself.” 

“I’ll remember that next time you need help with-Okay, okay, I give, Marisol, stop!”

“So what’s got you stuck in your head today? Rough weekend? Did something happen? Do you need to talk about it? Do I need to beat someone up?” 

“No, nothing like that. I had a nightmare, and I'm kinda tired, that’s all.”

It wasn't a lie.  Technically. She was still exhausted from everything that bad happened that weekend. She'd put little effort into today, throwing on grey sweatpants and a pink hoodie. A cloud hung about her head, and she suspected it wasn't entirely hers.

“That’s it? You’re not hiding anything?”

“Nope.” _Yep._

Marisol considered this for a moment, before she turned her attention to David. “How about you? You’re being  suspiciously  quiet.”

He shrugged. “I’m learning a new coding language. Should make this year’s Battle of the Bots interesting.”

“So nothing upsetting is happening in either of your lives?”

“Why do you sound so disappointed?” David asked.

“I’m usually spot on about these things.”

Shajarah pat her friend on the back. “We all have off days.”

* * *

They were working in pairs in Engineering, and Shajarah teamed up with David. 

“Hand me the duct tape, please.” David said.

Shajarah handed him a screwdriver.

“This isn't even  remotely  what I asked for.”

“What?”

“Duct Tape.”

She grabbed it for him.

“Now, you wanna tell me what's bothering you?”

“You first.”

“Deflection. Projection. You're definitely hiding something.”

A brief staring contest later, Shajarah sighed.

“I'm not admitting to anything, but hypa...Hippo...What’s the word for a situation that's not real?”

“Hypothetically?” 

Shajarah snapped her fingers. “That's the sucker.  Hypothetically  , if you had an opportunity, and you know it's a great opportunity that anyone else would jump at, but you weren't sure it was a good thing, what would you do ?”

David snorted. “If I were you, I‘d ask if I  really  thought it was the wrong choice, or if I was being… What's the word I'm looking for?”

“You're asking me?”

David fiddled with some wires. “You do this thing sometimes, where you try to distance yourself  unnecessarily. Remember my birthday back in 8th grade?”

“It wasn't that bad.”

David pinched the bridge of his nose. “You locked yourself in the closet.”

“It wasn't-”

“You locked yourself in the closet.”

Shajarah sighed. 

"Okay, _now_ I need a screwdriver.”

”What kind?”

“Uh...Flathead.”

Shajarah peered over his shoulder. “You sure?”

David looked again. “Damn it.” He muttered.

Shajarah made grabbing motions with her hands. “Hand it.”

David sighed and slid the robot over to her. 

“Now, your turn. What's going on?”

“I have a friend in my building. Charlie. He's a junior at the public school. I play basketball with him sometimes. He… He went missing."

“What happened?”

“Cops think he ran away.”

“And you don't.”

“He adores his little sister, and he always talks about his plans to get a sport scholarship to a good school. He wouldn't jeopardize all that.”

“Any idea when? Or where?”

David shook his head. “His family’s torn up over it.” 

They sat in silence as Shajarah finished tightening the screws. 

She wanted to assure David she would do everything she could, but Shajarah Zaki couldn’t do much, and David couldn’t know about Empathy.

“I’ll keep him in my prayers.”

* * *

Empathy could handle muggers. They rarely put up much of a fight.

She doubted very official-looking kidnappers wielding guns and what she guessed were needles filled with tranquilizers would be as easy. This was new territory. 

The kidnappers in question targeted a teenage boy,  maybe  a year or two older than her, who was  probably  on his way home for the night. The kid struggled with his attackers, yelling for help. Empathy dropped down as a needle plunged in his neck. His eyes grew wide as he passed out.

“It’s not nice to stab people with needles.”

They all turned to look at her.

“Are you gonna let him go? Those who cook with poison taste it.”

The sound of guns  being cocked  answered her.

“Oh, joy. We’re doing this now.” Empathy leaped up as the first bullets whizzed past her.

Using her wires, she swung around behind her attackers, and climbed halfway up a building.  Using their momentary disorientation, she grasped 2 of the 5 kidnappers’, turning their guns against each other  . Empathy looked around. She couldn’t hold them forever, and she was already exhausted. She doubted anyone had called the police. She was  just  buying time. 

_Think._

The tranquilizer was  probably  long-lasting, so Empathy would need to carry the boy away,  possibly  to the hospital . No one seemed to have reported the gunshots, so no police.

_Think._

Empathy formed a plan. She needed to move quick. She launched the kidnappers at each other, and they crumbled. As they did, Empathy grabbed the boy and shot up the side of the building. The recovering kidnappers fired their guns at Empathy.  She ran across the rooftops until the fiery feeling of anger in her stomach faded and the shouts of the kidnappers couldn’t  be heard  over the city noise.

Once Empathy stopped, she  nearly  fell over. She took one deep breath, then another, until the earth stopped spinning around her. She checked on her rescuee. He’d begun to stir.

“Stay calm. I’m taking you to the hospital.” Empathy set off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Shajarah said it in English, those who cook with poison taste it is an Arabic expression.


	7. Life Marches On

BEEP BEEP BEEP

 _“Shut up._ _”_ Shajarah grumbled.

She stumbled into the living room and plopped on the couch. 

“Morning, Sunshine.” Taslim called from the kitchen.

Shajarah groaned. _“You need to stop picking up phrases from those stupid sitcoms.”_

“Did you wake up on the wrong end of the bed?”

“It’s...nevermind. Is it  really  only Tuesday?”

“Yes. Now, go get ready for Fajr. You can go back to sleep after.”

Shajarah groaned and fell sideways into the pillows. She pulled the throw blanket from the back of the couch over her head.

“This is what happens when you stay up too late.” Taslim ripped the blanket off of her. “What kept you out so long?” 

She couldn’t brush him off. She’d tried before. ( _ “It’s good to talk about these things, Shajarah, and you can’t share this stuff with your therapist.”)_

“I had to give a statement to the police. There was an attempted kidnapping a few blocks away, and I took the victim to the hospital.” 

Taslim shook his head. “ _Ya Allah._ Sometimes,  I wonder  why I let you do this.” 

“Because if I wasn’t there, that boy would be gone to Allah only knows where.”

Taslim kissed her head. “I know.  Just  stay safe, Juh-Juh.”

“Juh-Juh is almost as bad as _Brem_.”

Taslim smiled. “I know. Now, go get ready.”

* * *

Class started 5 minutes ago, but Ms. Anand never showed up on time. Sometimes, you’d see her racing through the hallways during passing time.

“Why is she late today?” Marisol asked. “Best theory gets a stick of gum I found in my backpack.”

“A wild flock of pigeons kidnapped her.” 

“Naajia starting us out strong! Who’s next?” 

“An aggressive flashmob broke out.” Ushi said.

"The copier broke down.” 

“...And Henry coming in weak.”

“A woman on the bus gave birth to the Minotaur.” Terry said.

“You need to stop suggesting Greek myths.” Henry said.

Terry stuck out their tongue. “Fight me.”

“A sword fight broke out and she had to save a kitten trapped in the middle.” Shajarah said.

Ms. Anand, the theater director, ran into the room, her silver-trimmed teal sari flowing behind her and a pile of papers in her arms. Her grey-streaked hair  was pinned up in a loose bun, with strands falling in her face. 

“Sorry, sorry. Sorry I’m late. Everyone take a seat.”

The class scrambled to sit on one of the benches set up in the auditorium. Shajarah and Marisol sat side-by-side.

“The copier broke down while-”

“Ha! I told you!”

All eyes turned to Henry.

Marisol rolled her eyes and tossed to stick of gum at him. “Congrats.”

“No chewing gum in Theater.” Ms. Anand started passing out the papers. “Our annual From the Top beneficiary is coming up. We have a lot to do. I’m passing out the list of things we need to do. First things first, we need our student director. Any volunteers?”

Avery raised her hand. “I’ll do it.”

There was a collective groan.

“You do it every year!”

“It’s been the same theme since 7th grade!”

“I’m not singing another Disney song!”

Marisol tipped her head to Shajarah’s shoulder. “If I volunteer, will you be my assistant?” 

“Do you even need to ask?” She whispered back.

Marisol popped up. “I volunteer as tribute!”

Avery facepalmed. “This is Theater, not The Hunger Games. If you’re not going to take this  seriously …”

“I’m as serious as _Ich Luge_ Bullets.”

“Let’s vote. All in favor of Avery, raise your hand. Now, all in favor of Marisol…” Ms. Anand counted the raised hands. “Marisol wins by 3 votes.”

Shajarah felt a tiny flame begin to dance in her belly. It wasn’t hard to guess whose anger it was. Avery was shooting daggers at Marisol.

“Well, we’re almost out of time. I want everyone to think of a theme for this year’s exhibition. We’ll vote when we meet on Thursday.” Marisol glanced at the paper. “In the meantime, I’ll start on all this...stuff.”

The bell rang. They filed into the hallway. Marisol grabbed Shajarah’s arm.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” 

“Did you want me to stop you?”

“You know I don’t think things through!  Now I have to arrange the music, playbill, posters, scenery, costumes, lighting…” She read off the paper . “All in 6 weeks!”

Other students looked at her as she waved the list around. Shajarah’s stomach twisted into a grade-a knot. Marisol’s eyes watered.

“Deep breaths, Marisol. I’ll help you. We’ll figure it out.”

Marisol nodded. Shajarah slung her arm over Marisol’s shoulder and gave her a small squeeze. 

David caught up to them. “Hey, you two. We’re gonna be late to History.”

As if to prove his point, the bell rang.

* * *

Shajarah didn’t go straight home. Taslim was working an afternoon shift at the restaurant, so she went there instead.

The walls of _Bisharahs’ Mediterranean Cuisine_ were decorated with colorful geometric designs. Red curtains blocked off the doorway to the kitchen at the back. Simple light fixtures hanging over every table and cushions on every seat completed the warm, homey atmosphere.

Lamisa came over to squeeze her shoulders. “Hey Habibti!” 

“Hey.”

“Your brother’s in the kitchen. Take a seat. I’ll bring you a study snack.” Lamisa winked. 

Shajarah sat down at one of the empty tables. The dinner rush would pick up in an hour, but for now, Shajarah could hang out and get started on her Spanish study guide. Once the foot traffic picked up, she would take off. 

Lamisa set a tray down in front of her. “Falafel for your belly and honey tea for your throat. Enjoy.”

Lamisa walked off to tend other customers in the restaurant.  Her lavender hijab, pastel yellow shirt, and light wash jeans stood out against the vibrant walls . 

Shajarah turned back to her homework.  Maybe  she should ask Marisol for help. It’s hard enough speaking a second language, but a third? She always had to take the notes and vocab home and rewrite them for Arabic to Spanish. It was tedious, but it worked.

45 minutes and a completed study guide later, Shajarah packed her bag and walked over to the ticket counter .

Lamisa and Taslim leaned against the counter, their heads tilted together, laughing at some joke one of them told . Shajarah smiled and cleared her throat. They stood up straight. Shajarah fought hard not to make a snarky comment.

_“I’m gonna head home._ _”_ Translation: I’m going out on patrol.

_“There’s leftovers in the fridge for dinner._ _”_ Translation: Eat something before you do.

_“S_ _ounds good. See you later.”_ I’ll be out late.

_“_ _Love you.”_ Stay safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fajr is the dawn prayer  
> Ich Luge Bullets are from Heathers. The name translates to I Lie from German.  
> Habibti means my love. It is the Feminine form. (The masculine is habbibi.) It's commonly used among friends.  
> Brem is sprout in Arabic  
> Ya Allah is the equivalent of Dear God


	8. Contact

“Hey! Empathy!” A voice from the street stopped Empathy in her tracks. She scanned the streets for the source from her perch on a store.

A guy in a suit with a police badge around his neck waved at her from an empty street corner. “Hey!”

She frowned under her mask. While foot traffic mostly died out after sunset, cars packed the street like tuna in a can. Several emotions faded in and out, creating a kind of background “noise” to sort through. Mostly road rage.

Empathy scaled down the side of the building, then turned to look at the officer. “How can I help?”

“I’m not sure you remember, but-“

Something clicked. She almost didn’t recognize him.

“Last Thursday. Mugging by the dumpster.”

“I was taking the trash out when that guy cornered me. Detective Scully.” He held out his hand.

_ Not again. _

“I-uh...I don’t shake hands. It’s nice to meet you, though. Did you need something?”

He glanced over his shoulder. Butterflies fluttered to life in her stomach. He turned his hand so she could see he was holding something small.

“Just wanted to say thanks.”

If there was anything she learned during all those improv exercises in Ms. Anand’s class, it was how to think on her feet.

“Do you have a card I could have? I could use a contact in the NYPD.”

“Of course!” He rifled through his jacket and produced a white card. “Call me if you need help with anything.” 

He pressed the card in her hand, along with something small and plastic. A flash drive. 

“Thank you. Stay safe, Detective.” She shot her wires and scaled the building.

* * *

The next night, Shajarah sat hunched over a computer in the corner of the library, waiting for the cursed thing to load. Nine case files in total. All kidnappings. All dismissed. Notes from Detective Scully, the victim statement from the kid she’d saved, scanned-in reports, even a couple of police sketches. 

_ Victim described a logo on one suspect’s jacket. An octopus with a skull for a head.  _

_ Suspects used unknown sedative on the victim. _

_ Eight other kidnappings have the same M.O. I believe they are connected. _

_ All nine cases dropped after short investigation. Someone in the Department doesn’t want this investigated. _

Shajarah skimmed through the files, unable to fully process them. She shut the computer down and stuck the flash drive in her backpack. She slumped back in her chair.

_ What now? _

Her first instinct said she should report it to someone.

_ Who? _

The police were part of the problem, and it seemed to extend high up.

_ The Avengers? _

A.) They’re broken up, B.) Kidnappings and corruption aren’t really in their purview, and C.) Shajarah still felt uneasy trusting them.

_ The FBI? _

They could have the same problems as the police.

_ School Counselor? _

Way above his pay-grade. She was pretty sure when he’d told students to report illegal activity, he meant drugs and alcohol, not secret organizations and high-level corruption.

Her second instinct was to investigate as Empathy.

_ How? _

She could try following them back to their base.

_ First of all, someone would have to be kidnapped. Second, they could see you following them. Third, even if you got to their, how would you sneak in without being seen? Vigilantes are very noticable. _

She groaned. _ You try coming up with a better idea. _

_ What if you investigated as Shajarah?  _

* * *

Later that night, Shajarah hunched over her desk, a map of all the kidnappings in front of her. They all seemed to be within the neighborhood, so chances were the organization was close by. She marked down spots to stake-out. Coffee shops, parks, and stores.

There was a knock on the door. 

_ “Come on in.” _

Taslim walked in, looked over the map, and frowned.  _ “Do you have any idea what time it is?” _

_ “Almost midnight?” _

_ “1:00. We discussed this. Unless there’s an emergency, you have to be home at midnight, and lights out as soon as possible.” _

_ “But this is important!”  _ Shajarah pleaded.

_ “So is sleep. Go to bed. Now.” _

_ “Fine.” _ Shajarah tucked the map into her desk.


	9. Close to Home

“Shajarah.” Marisol’s sharp voice sent her rushing to her feet. 

“Here.”

“We already did that part. We’re sharing themes for From the Top.” 

Shajarah looked around the benches at her classmates expectant faces. A few of them snickered, making her ears burn.

It wasn’t her fault she was falling asleep. She was up late with hero work, and she was wearing her favorite green sweater. It was super fuzzy, and impossible not to relax in. 

“I...don’t have one.”

A small fire danced in her stomach. Marisol pursed her lips.

“Alright then. Let’s vote.”

Shajarah sat down, heart pounding in her ears. 

“Broadway’s best opening numbers. I can work with that.” Marisol said after class. 

Shajarah hummed in agreement. _8 reported missing kids. All the cases dropped. Who has the authority to dismiss cases without question?_

“I need to put together a list of songs for everyone to choose from, and the people we’ll need for them.”

Shajarah nodded. _Skull-octopus logo. It looked familiar. Where did I see it?_

“I’ll need an offering for Cthulhu as well. Can you pick that up?”

“Totally.” _Are they working out of an abandoned building or are they under a shell-corp?_

Marisol swatted Shajarah’s arm. “You’re not paying attention! What’s with you today?”

“I, uh, was up late working on my super-secret project.”

Marisol raised an eyebrow. “How much sleep did you get?”

Shajarah groaned. “No. Don’t quote that stupid statistic at me again.”

“Teenagers need 9 hours of sleep every night.”

“I already got the lecture from my brother. I don’t need it from you, either.”

“Oh, hello short-tempered Shajarah. Haven’t seen you since finals last year.”

Shajarah glared.

Marisol put her hands on Shajarah’s shoulders. “Shajarah, I need you to be present. I can’t organize the benefit _and_ stay on top of you. Do you understand?”

Shajarah nodded.

“Good.”

Allah forgive her, she’d told so many lies this week.

* * *

One thing cop shows don’t tell you is how  absolutely  boring stakeouts are. Shajarah left with nothing. 

After the mind-numbing people watching, running from roof to roof was freeing. She wanted to whoop and shout. Land, crouch, push off, run, jump, repeat. If needed, shoot wires to scale up or down a building. Easy, mindless almost. 

Her stomach writhed, bringing Empathy skidding to a halt. She focused in on the feeling, and set off towards the source.

Empathy got closer, and her feelings of dread joined the fear, making her nauseous. She recognized the bioelectrical signature. ( _Ya Allah_ she needed a better word for that.)

_Please let me be wrong. Please please please._

She wasn’t.

There were only 3 kidnappers this time. Same garb, same guns, and same needles. One difference, it was David, bruised and dazed, they were trying to sedate.

“Hey!” She shouted from the roof. 

All eyes on her. Perfect. 

“I’ll give you to the count of 3 to drop your toys. 1…”

The cocking of guns echoed around the alley.

“2…”

A few shots rang out. She jumped to avoid them. “3!”

Empathy tried to grab at their energy, but  quickly  realized Taslim and Marisol might’ve been on to something . She switched tactics.

_Stay high. Can’t let him get caught in the crossfire._

She shot her wire past Baddie #1, and whipped it back across his face. A nasty looking gash drew itself on his cheek. She grabbed the gun and pulled it away. She shot her wires up to scale the building a little more. Empathy’s heart pounded in her ears, and she felt almost disconnected from her body. She jumped down at Baddie #2, landing a good kick to the head. Baddies #1 and #3 locked at each other, before charging. Empathy jumped out of the way, dodging their attempts to grab at her. She swept Baddie #2’s legs out from under him, and kicked #1 into the wall. With all 3 attackers down, she turned and pulled David to his feet.

“David, are you okay?” She asked.

He  obviously  wasn’t. He had a split lip, bloody nose, and the start of a  truly  nasty black eye. Allah knows what other injuries his jacket hid.

“I’ll be fine.” He said.

There was silence as she secured the kidnappers. 

“Um… Empathy?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know my name?”

Ice flooded her veins. “...What do you mean?”

“You said ‘David.’ You knew my name. I never told you.”

Empathy didn’t know how to respond. She finished securing the binders and began sitting the unconscious kidnappers up.

“I know you, don’t I?”

She froze.

“...Shajarah?”


	10. What Now?

6:52  **Shajarah:** _ I’m bringing David over. Have the first-aid kit ready _

6:52  **Shajarah:** _ And an ice pack  _

6:54  **Shajarah:** _ And maybe some food _

Empathy ducked into an empty alleyway and pulled her suit off. She had a pink long sleeved shirt, black sweatpants, and a cream colored underscarf underneath her suit. She rolled up her suit and tucked it under her arm.

David was waiting at the entrance to the alley, holding a wad of paper towels to his nose. He’d probably grabbed them from one of the bodegas or one of the restaurants lining the street. His eye was swelling up, and They started walking towards her building.

“Soooo…” He said, “This is…”

“Weird.”

“So weird.”

The wind blew a gust of chilly air at them.

“Aren't you cold?” David asked.

She shrugged. They continued on.

“Y’know, this might be the first time you’ve invited me to your home.”

Shajarah looked at him. “Really?”

“Really. We always hang out at the library, or that cafe with the pastries.”

Shajarah stomach growled. “Those pastries are so good.”

“Yeah.”

They walked another block in silence before Shajarah broke the silence.

“You let your mom know you’re gonna be home late?”

“Yeah. I told her I’m going to a friend’s house for dinner, which is technically true.”

“I’ll go out on a limb and say you didn’t tell her you got beat up in an alleyway.”

David snorted. “Are you kidding? I’d never get to leave the house again!” 

The humor dissolved, and David asked, “Shajarah, who were those people?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.”

They arrived at her building. She escorted him in, and they trudged up the stairs to her apartment. She could sense Taslim’s anxiety from down the hall, and the fluttering in her chest almost knocked her out when she opened the door.

Taslim was in business mode, setting about cleaning David’s face, pressing an ice pack to his eye, and checking for other injuries. Once he was satisfied that David was fine, Taslim set a large plate of kibbeh on the coffee table and sat down. 

“What happened?”

Shajarah filled him in while David ate. “...So now he knows.” She grabbed a piece of the food to settle her grumbling stomach.

Taslim rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m this close to banning your heroics. That’s 2 people who know, Juh-Juh! 2 people in 1 week!”

“No offense.” Shajarah said to David.

“I need to think. Finish eating. Take your friend home, then come straight back here.”

“I can walk myself. Thanks for everything, really.”

“See you tomorrow.” Shajarah said quietly, and the door shut.

Taslim turned in her. “Say your prayers and go to bed.”

“It’s 8:30!”

“Go.”

* * *

Shajarah would never admit it, but Taslim was right. She fell asleep almost instantly and slept through the night. 

To her surprise, David was at the subway the station the next day. Marisol spent the entire commute mother henning over his bruises.

Marisol wanted her help with sign-up sheets during Study Hall, but David dragged her away for a hushed Q&A session in the corner.

“I was thinking. Those guys from last night.”

“What about them?”

“Do you think they took Charlie?”

“I don’t know. His name isn’t in the case files.”

“Case files?”

Shajarah told him about Detective Scully and the flashdrive.

“You said the officers dismissed the case immediately, right? His name might have never made it on the files.”

David thought for a second. “Do you think I can see the files?”

“No. I don’t want you anywhere near this.”

“I’ve already been near this.”

“And you could’ve been kidnapped. What would I tell your mother?”

Marisol walked over. “What are you two talking-slash-arguing about?”

Shajarah and David glared at each other for a second, before answering at the same time. “Nothing.”

“You two make a lot of noise for nothing.” Marisol said. “Shajarah, can you help me now? I still have-”

The bell rung, and Marisol let out some very non-Catholic words.

“Later.” Shajarah said. “Email me the details, I’ll do them over the weekend.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

Taslim was waiting for her when she got home later. _“Shajarah, can I talk to you?_ ”

_“Deep breath first, please. You’re freaking me out.”_ Shajarah went to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. _“Is everything okay?”_

_ “Yeah, yeah, I just need to talk with you.” _

_ “About…” _

Taslim took a deep breath. _“I want to ask_ _ Lamisa out.” _

Shajarah coughed apple bits into her elbow. _“What?”_

_ “I wanted to check with you before asking her, to make sure you were okay with it.” _

_ “I...uh...yeah. Yeah, of course.“ _

Taslim sighed in relief. _“Ok. Good. I’ll arrange dinner with her family.”_

_“I can’t wait.”_

Her phone pinged. The internship. 

_ Have you reached a decision? _

_ I have. No, thank you. _

_ Ok. Let me know if you change your mind. _

_ I will. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muslims have there own version of dating called halal dating. There are rules and goals to this kind of dating. You can read a little more here: https://islamicmarriage.com/muslim-halal-dating


	11. What’s Lost in the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for description of burns, fire, and flashbacks

Shajarah knows she should be patient.

_ “Indeed Allah is with those who patiently endure.” _ Mama would say as she watered her plants on the windowsill. 

_ “But I want to see the flowers!”  _ Shajarah would say, standing on her tiptoes to see the plants.

_ “They’re not ready yet. They still need to grow. Like you, Sprout.” _

_ “Why does it take so long?” _

_ “Nothing happens before it’s supposed to. Now go, play.” _

How many times had her mama told her to be patient?

_ Nothing happens before it’s supposed to.  _ Maybe, but they sure happened  _ after _ .

In her frustration, Shajarah began investigating possible hide-outs. With how many kids the mysterious shadow organization kidnapped, they’d need a large building out of the public eye. Whatever they gave those kids in the needles wore off quicker than she initially thought. 10 minutes or so, though the first boy hadn’t been lucid for another half hour or so. They would at least need a waypoint on the edge of the borough. Her process was essentially guess and check. Better than people watching.

Being out and about also allowed her to help with emergencies she found along the way. 

Which is how she found herself outside a burning warehouse.

The heat was aggressive, pushing against her, warning her away. About six people; with ragged clothes, soot covered faces, and various burns; had already evacuated when she arrived. An older woman held a girl, maybe eight, who was crying. Two other people were holding a man back from running into the flames. “She’s still in there! Let me go!”

Empathy ran over. “Calm down, please. Who’s still in there?” 

“My wife, Marie. We got separated. She needs me!”

The older woman cried out, “Your daughter needs you! Let the girl do her job!”

“She’s right, sir. I’ll find her.”

She turned to the building.  _ Allah preserve me through the flames. _

She ran into the building.

* * *

The lack of fear is usually a good thing. But the energy source was weak, and hard to find. Empathy ran through the flaming building. Her mask filtered out the smoke, but the air burned her throat and lungs with every breath.

A creaking above her warned her to move before a chunk of ceiling fell where she was standing. Neither her nor the building would last much longer.

She found Marie pinned under a flaming support beam. Marie was unconscious and fading. Half her scalp and face were covered in vicious burns, and the smell burned her nose in a different way. Empathy wasted no time lifting the beam off of her and carrying her out.The heat burned her through her gloves.

She laid Marie on the ground where the others gathered safely away from the flames. Her clothes had melted into her charred skin in places, and other places were angry red with blood. Marie’s breath rattled quietly in her chest. Her husband rushed to her side almost immediately, pleading for her to open her eyes.

Firefighters and EMTs must have arrived while she’d been inside, and they set about tending to Marie.

“Mom?” A small voice cut through the chaos, and the little girl started walking towards her mother.

“Don’t let her see!” Someone else called. 

The older woman swept the girl up, and she started screaming and crying.

_ Don’t let her see! _

_ She’s being grabbed and carried away. _

Empathy sensed it before she heard it. Marie’s faint energy disappeared, and a guttural wail sounded out in symphony with the sirens and the little girl’s screaming.

An EMT came over to ask Empathy if she needed medical attention. She shook her head.

The warehouse collapsed in on itself with a thunderous BOOM.

_ Her home collapsed a few feet away. _

_ She’s 8. _

She’s 14.

_ She’s in Homs _

She’s in New York 

_ Where am I? _

_ She’s in Homs, and a bomb destroyed her neighborhood. That’s what everyone was saying. Bomb. Her ears were still ringing. Half of their building had collapsed, including part of their apartment. Baba and Taslim were digging for Mama. Some of their neighbors helped them. Ayeesha holds Shajarah close, tears streaking the dust on her face. Shajarah holds her breath. She doesn’t know why. She can’t feel her own body. She wants Mama to hug her. To sing her a lullaby and tell her everything’s going to be alright. _

_ “Leyla!” Baba cries. His voice crackled. “Leyla, please!” _

_ “Mama?” Shajarah cried. _

_ “Don’t let her see!” One of the men yelled. ”Get her away from here!” _

_ Shajarah broke out of Ayeesha’s grip and ran over. “Mama! Mama!” _

_ Large hands were grabbing her and picking her up. Baba was crying a few feet away. She’d never seen him cry before. Shajarah cried too, tears burning her eyes and sobs stealing her breath. “Mama! Let me see Mama!” _

_ Whoever was holding her didn’t let her go, and she began kicking and screaming, desperate to see her mom. “Mama!” _

* * *

Empathy stared down at the traffic below her. The lower half of her mask pulled away to let cold air into her burning lungs. Her skin was angry and her lips cracked. She could go home, drink a few glasses of water, and sleep the worst of the damage off. She didn’t. She would sit here forever, not moving, not thinking, not caring. She would become a statue, frozen for all time and-

Something bounced off her back. She didn’t turn to look. She heard the sound of cooling repulsors and sensed someone standing behind her.

“You know, you’re really bad at catching those.”

When she didn’t respond, Mr. Stark walked over and dropped the water bottle in her lap.

“Your suit reported 1st and 2nd degree burns, and slight damage to your airway. Make sure you keep those clean and covered until they heal. Maybe lay off your vocal cords. Like you're doing now.”

Empathy looked at him.

“I saw the footage.” He gestured to her mask. “The suit records all your activity. For safety purposes.”

Empathy wanted to get angry. He hadn’t told her that before. It was an invasion of privacy! She should be angry. She didn’t have the energy.

When she didn’t respond, Mr. Stark sat down next to her with a grunt. “Look kid, that was rough. But it wasn’t anything you did. Not that you didn’t do anything.” He groaned. “God, I’m bad at this. I’m trying to say this wasn’t your fault. I speak from personal experience when I say sometimes, you can’t save everyone.”

“I know.” Empathy rasped. The words grated on her throat. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the city lights. After a minute or so, she took a drink of water, downing the entire bottle.

“Now might not be the best time to ask, but what were you doing that far out, anyways?”

“Investigating.”

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“Investigating bad guys.”

“Uh-huh. What bad guys?”

“That’s what I’m investigating.”

Empathy could sense his growing frustration, and she smiled faintly.

“Yeah, ok. Do me a favor, when you find these ‘bad guys’ you’re looking for, call Happy. Don’t get in over your head. Deal?” 

Empathy nodded. 

“Do you need me to take you home?”

“No.”

“Go on then. Get some rest.”

She nodded again. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

Empathy watched Mr. Stark fly off, and set off to her own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the top of the chapter is actually a verse from the Quran (8:46)  
> Also, as a little note, to make the story’s timeline work, I’m using artistic license regarding the timeline of the Syrian Conflict. It’s all moved up a few years, so don’t cite me for any dates or events.


	12. The Boy with the Dragon T-shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Negative self image and a suicidal thought
> 
> Take care of yourselves!

_ShajarahTreeHugger: Still wanna help with the super-secret project? Bring your laptop tmmrow @ noon_

_Code_David: 👍🏼_

Shajarah swung the door open before David even knocked. 

“That’s freaky.” David walked in. “Sooo…”

“Take your shoes off. I made lunch and tea. Taslim is at work, so we have time.”

“You sound…”

“I have a cold.” She said  automatically  . She looked up from the food and saw David wandering  aimlessly  around the common area. “You can sit down, you know.”

David sat  carefully  on the couch. Shajarah could see the awkwardness in his shoulders. He’d  probably  start chewing on the drawstrings of his grey hoodie in a few seconds.  She grabbed the camomile tea bags and mused on the rumors that would float around the mosque if someone knew she was alone with a boy. The aunties loved gossip.

”Sooo…” David said again.

She set a mug of tea and a cup of lukewarm water down and returned to the kitchen for the sandwiches. ”It’s about my suit. I  was told  it records all my activity. Who knows what other features he hid on there. I need your help to investigate and disable.”

”Question. Who gave you the suit?”

Shajarah sat down on the yellow chair next to the couch. ”Mr. Stark.” 

Her chest restricted and her stomach jumped.

”You want me to hack into _Iron Man’s_ tech?! Are you trying to get us arrested?!” 

Shajarah took a bite of the sandwich, brushing crumbs off her bubblegum pink hijab. ”No.  Just  trying to protect my privacy. I wasn't told about the recording part until a week after I got the suit, and I  really  don't like secrets.”

”You're a superhero. Isn't secrets your whole thing?”

”I’m already mad at Stark. Don't make me mad at you.” 

David held his hands up in surrender. ”Fine, fine. But for the record, if this goes south, I had nothing to do with this.”

Shajarah smiled. ” Naturally.”

* * *

While David worked on her suit, Shajarah began work on the sign-up sheets. The click-clacking of keys filled the apartment.

“So, how’s life?” David asked, not looking up from his screen.

“Good. Taslim might get engaged soon. He’s gonna start dating this girl we know, assuming she says yes.  I think  she will. They  really  like each other.”

“How do you know they’ll get engaged? You kinda have to date someone a while to even _begin_ thinking about a ring.”

“Halal dating, which is what they’re doing,  is done  with the understanding that if all goes well, they’ll get married and live  happily  ever after and all that fairytale nonsense. Taslim has a huge crush on her, and it’s  sickeningly  sweet.” She paused. “Now that  I think  about it, I don’t know that I’ve ever had a crush on anyone.”

David looked up at her, and seemed to hesitate. “You remember Jasmine H.? From middle school?”

Shajarah thought for a second.  Jasmine had the prettiest cornrow braids with colorful beads at the ends that clicked when she moved her head. Her laughter was infectious, like a catchy song.

“Yeah. Did you have a crush on her?”

David hesitated again. 

“No one could blame you if you did. She was beautiful.”

David’s computer pinged. “I’m in.” He said in a deep voice.

Shajarah tossed a throw pillow at him. “You’re a dork.”

David grinned and scanned the computer. His eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Woah.”

“What?” Shajarah moved next to him. “Woah.”

The screen listed thousands of protocols and features. Most  were locked by…

“The Training Wheels Protocol?” Shajarah asked.

“Makes sense. Some of these things look complicated.” David looked a little more, and burst out laughing. “Here. This must be it.”

“The _Baby Monitor _ Protocol?!” She asked  indignantly.

“The good news is it’s only active when you use the suit. The bad news, you’re a baby!” David dissolved into laughter again.

“Turn them both off. David, please. Stop laughing!”

* * *

She waved goodbye and shut the door. All traces of humor drained from her body, leaving her limbs and eyelids heavy. She hadn’t slept well, and  probably  wouldn’t for a while. She decided she deserved those sleepless nights. She took one step, and another, and lay down on the floor. 

The little girl’s cries echoed in her ears without anyone to distract her.

_If I can stop more bad things from happening, if I can prevent one kid from growing up scared like I did, I should._

_Kathaabah._

_You did nothing to help that girl. She’s gonna grow up without a mother because of you._

_You knew it was too late. Why pull her out at all?_

_You should have stayed in that fire._

Shajarah shot up,alert. Alarms sounded in her head. She pulled herself off the ground, and grabbed her phone.

She pushed a few buttons and waited for the other line to connect.

_“Taslim? I’m having a bad day. Can we do movie night tonight?”_

_“Of course, Juh-Juh. I’ll make crepes.”_

_“Thank you.” She sighed “I love you.”_

_“I love you too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kathaabah=Liar (Female form)
> 
> Practice self-care y’all!


	13. Shajarah and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Shajarah reached the  objective , scientific, well-informed conclusion that Monday  _sucks_ .

Her day consisted of baby hairs that  would not stay under her teal hijab, a pop quiz she’s  woefully unprepared for, a homework assignment she’d completely forgotten about, more work for the From The Top show, and a fight with David, and it was only third period . 

Marisol tried to drag the details out of them on their way to history. “One minute you two are whispering in the corner, the next you’re arguing about Lord only knows. What is going on?”

“Shajarah is a stubborn idiot who doesn’t know when to ask for help.”

“David is a busybody sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“If you would  just let me help!”

“You already helped!”

“I can do more!”

“I told you, not going to…” Her voice fizzled out, and she came to a dead stop in the doorway.  Another student entering knocked the books out of her hands,  possibly by accident, and she scrambled to pick them up and sit down . 

_Don’t act suspicious. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t do anything weird._

“Students, welcome! Ms. Taylor is out sick for the immediate future. I’m your substitute, Mr. Ellis. Some of you may recognize me from when I subbed for the AP calc class last week.” He clasped his hands together. He wore a tie with a landscape on it and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Shajarah didn’t recognize his face, or his voice, or anything anyone else would pick up on, but she was working with an extra sense . She recognized his energy signature. He was the head of the kidnapping squad.

Her day was about to get  _so_ much worse.

* * *

  


Shajarah knew she needed help.  She  desperately wanted someone to share the burden of her self-imposed mission, but there wasn’t anyone she could trust .

Mr. Stark had hidden programs in her suit to spy on her.

Taslim would forbid her from doing anything he deemed too dangerous.

David would get himself hurt.

No one else could even know about this.

Shajarah’s brain clawed her skull. Frustration settled in her throat, waiting to burst out in a screaming fit. Her muscles tensed, waiting for something to happen.

At this point, she didn’t even trust herself. She didn’t even know what she was going up against.

Shajarah made her home in the library, walking  aimlessly through the shelves. Before she knew it, she’d wandered to the back of the library, in the history section. She browsed the books on World War II, books detailing all the worst things humanity had to offer.  Nazis, genocide, nuclear weapons...Shajarah turned around to make her way to the adventure section .  A graying old librarian wearing glasses on a chain and an olive green dress was reshelving books in this section . One of the covers caught her eye and stopped her heart.

“Hold on, can I see that real quick?”

“Here, sweetie. Make sure it gets returned to the proper place, yes?”

She nodded and grabbed the book. The librarian pushed her cart to the next aisle, and Shajarah sank to the floor, heart pounding. The book,  _Hydra: The Nazi Science Cult_ ,  was emblazoned with an octopus with a skull for a head. The same symbol on the flash drive and on the kidnappers clothes. 

She was fighting _Hydra_.

There was a Hydra agent in her school.

_Allaenat ealayk_

* * *

  


The hour-long-on-a-good-day subway trip back home from Greenwich Village back to her own neighborhood took almost 2 .  During which a fellow passenger yelled slurs and abuse at her, which the other passengers ignored . She shrank into the pole and ignored the stinging in her eyes and tremors in her hands. Sometimes, she liked to be on stage. Other times,  however , she wished to be invisible.

Taslim was working the dinner shift, so she was on her own. She dropped her backpack on the floor, buried her face in a pillow, and screamed. She sat up, and tears rolled down her face, and she broke down. Her chest constricted, and breathing took concentrated effort. She continued on until there was nothing left, leaving her empty and shaking. 

Shajarah dragged herself to the bathroom to clean up. The cool water felt good on her face. She said her prayers and went to bed early, skipping dinner in the process.

Maybe tomorrow would be better. 

She didn’t see how it could get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allaenat ealayk has a few different translations. Here it’s used as damn it.
> 
> Stay safe and stay healthy!


	14. A New Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shajarah "What Is Sleep" Zaki

Shajarah had two days to figure out her new teacher’s game before Thanksgiving break. Maybe even bring Hydra down if she was lucky. Not that she was known for her brilliant strokes of luck.  
She spent Tuesday afternoon pouring over all the paper copies of the information she had, as well as her own notes. If she could tail Mr. Ellis…  
Maybe he’s still at the school.  
Shajarah grabbed her suit. _“Taslim, I’m heading out!”_  
Not waiting for a response, Shajarah climbed out the window and resumed her investigation.  
She’d barely gotten off her street when a male voice talking in English right in her ears caught her off guard. She tripped and sprawled out over the rooftop of a building. _“Ya_ lahwi _!”_  
 _“Congratulations on completing the rigorous Training Wheels protocol.”_ The voice, which must have been coming from her suit, was now talking in Arabic.  
 _“Wha...Who…”_ She trailed off for a second. _“What?”_  
 _“Congratulations on completing the rigorous Training Wheels protocol, and gaining access to your suit’s full capabilities.”_  
Empathy watched her display light up, detailing all kinds of schematics, maps, and settings. She pulled herself to her knees.  
 _“Who are you?”_  
“ _I am an artificial intelligence tasked with helping you manage your suit and activities as Empathy.”_  
 _“No that’s not...well it kinda was, but I mean what’s your name?”_  
 _“What do you want my name to be?”_  
She paused. _“I’ll get back to you. So...what can you do?”_

* * *

The answer was a lot. The AI could switch between American English and Levantine Arabic, track, analyze, and eavesdrop on people. Then there was her suit and wire shooters. She could taze people or use a tiny bird-shaped drone in the tree emblem on her chest to gather data.   
She had to admit, Mr. Stark knew his way around useful tech for heroes.  
After a quick test run, taking down a repeat mugger, stopping a drunken street fight, and people-watching from the rooftops, she came up with a name for her new helper.  
“Nasir?”  
“Yes?”  
“You don’t report to Mr. Stark, do you?”  
“I am only required to report serious injuries or life-threatening situations.”  
“So if I were to, say, go after Hydra, would you have to report that?”  
“Only if the situation became dangerous.”  
“Great. We’ve got a jam-packed schedule for the next few days, but if we succeed, there’ll be another thing to give thanks for on Thursday.”

* * *

Shajarah held her head up high, energy pooling in her chest and running through her veins. Marisol, on the other hand…  
“Other schools get today off! Why don’t we?”  
“Because that makes too much sense.” David said.  
Marisol gestured wildly at them with a sheet of paper.. “I’d kill any one of you for an extra day. I’m gonna have no time for anything this weekend. My mom’s family is flying in, and they’re gonna want to spend every minute with us. I won’t have any time for my regular schoolwork, let alone approving the song lists! If I don’t get this done, Avery is going to take over. She’s just waiting for me to slip up!”   
Shajarah plucked the paper from her hands. “I’ll take care of that. Tomorrow is gonna be busy, but I’ll have plenty of free time over the weekend.”  
Marisol frowned. “Shajarah, that’s very thoughtful and all, but…”  
“But what?”  
Marisol grabbed the paper and showed it to Shajarah. “This is my Algebra homework.”

* * *

“Go on, I’ll catch up.” Shajarah shooed her friends out of the History classroom, and mentally prepared herself for her most important performance to date.  
Mr. Ellis looked up from the papers on his desk. “Is there something you need...Is it Sarah?”  
She grimaced internally. “It’s Shajarah, actually. I’m having trouble understanding some of the material. I keep getting the North and South mixed up in my head. I know it’s a holiday, but could you help me after school?”   
Mr. Ellis squinted at her. “I suppose that is what a good teacher would do.”  
She smiled sheepishly, putting on her best confused foreigner look. It’s so easy to play to people’s expectations.  
“Fine. A short review session. I have holiday plans too, you know.”  
Shajarah flinched inwardly at what ‘holiday plans’ might mean in Hydra, but she nodded and smiled. “Thank you so much! I appreciate it!”  
She turned and walked away, with a real bounce in her steps, her plan smoothly in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya lahwi=Oh my God  
> Also, sorry for the brief hiatus! I usually get a lot of inspiration from school, and when we were quarantined I ran into writer's block. I hope you all stay safe and healthy. I'll try to be more active, but I make no promises of sticking to my schedule.


	15. The Best Laid Plans...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW Past suicide attempt, nothing shown on screen  
> Also, gross misuse of theater terms

In hindsight, a one-on-one meeting with a Hydra agent might not have been the best course of action.

Who is she kidding, Shajarah screwed up.

The review session should have been her first clue.

“So...What was your name again?” Mr. Ellis asked.

She took a deep breath, summoning the last of her patience. “Shajarah.”

“Shajarah. What do your parents do?”

Her stomach dropped. “They...uh…”

“Oh. My bad. You live with your brother, right?”

Shajarah froze.

“So  maybe  I should ask, what did your parents do?”

Shajarah knew the answer. Her baba was a scientist, working for some American company. He traveled all over the world, and brought a keychain back from every place he went.  Her mama stayed home with them, growing plants; shrub and flowers and such. 

“Shajarah.” Mr. Ellis waved his hand in front of her face. “Can you answer the question.”

“Why does it matter?” Shajarah snapped.

Mr. Ellis didn’t even blink. “I knew a man with the same last name as you. I wondered if you knew him.”

“Zaki is a common last name,” Shajarah said  bitterly.

“I see.” Mr. Ellis shuffled some papers on his desk. “Let’s start with the Union’s unique advantages over the Confederacy.”

“Actually,  I think  I’ll go home now,” Shajarah said shakily.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” The slight warmth in her chest told her otherwise.

“It’s fine,” Shajarah remembered her plan. “At least let me help you carry this stuff out to your car. Ms. Taylor left you with a lot of grading to get done.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

His smile made Shajarah feel like a squirrel in the park. Small, vulnerable, and amusing.

* * *

Shajarah’s plan was simple. Help Mr. Ellis carry his papers out to the car, and put her tracker on the car. Locate the base and free the kidnapped kids in time for Thanksgiving dinner. All without putting her life in the hands of someone else.

She walked side-by-side with him, while he made small talk.

“You’re in Theater, right?”

_For someone who can’t remember my name, you know a lot about me._ “Yes.”

He pulled out his keys, and his car honked from across the lot. “You’re an amazing actress. You must've had a lot of important roles.” 

Shajarah tensed. Her gut screamed at her. _DANGER! DANGER!_ “I guess.”

“What do you guys say in the theater? It’s time to drop the curtains?”

Shajarah turned to look at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, what I meant was, It’s time to drop the act.”

Blood drained from her head so fast, Shajarah thought she’d pass out. “What act?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Shajarah. Or should I say Empathy?”

Shajarah panicked. Could anyone blame her? She threw the box of papers at Mr. Ellis, dropped her backpack, and ran.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Ellis grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She fell on the pavement with a grunt. Mr. Ellis crouched next to her and pulled a knife.

“You’ve been nothing but a pest. And we  eliminate  pests.”

He plunged the knife down. Shajarah rolled away, and the knife grazed her right arm. She jumped to her feet and kicked Mr. Ellis in the stomach. He doubled over, and she ducked behind a car.

She took deep breaths, hand pressing against her wound, trying to center herself. Mr. Ellis stalked up the aisle of cars.

“You’re  just  delaying the inevitable! You think we’ll give up? Not a chance!” He poked his head around Shajarah’s hiding spot.

Shajarah squeezed her right fist, concentrating on his energy, and seizing it. He froze, stiff as a board. Shajarah released him, and he dropped to the pavement, unconscious. Exhausted, she slumped against the car. Mr. Ellis began to stir.

It was unusual, to say the least. When she knocked someone out, It usually lasted a minute or two. Of course, the first time Shajarah had controlled someone, she’d passed out. After a couple of times, she  just  got exhausted, and even that was getting easier by the day.  Maybe  the same was true for those she controlled?

None of that occurred to Shajarah until later, though. She  just  kicked his head, grabbed her backpack, stuck the tracker on the underside of his car, and ran

* * *

With no better option, Shajarah took the subway home. She wrapped her jacket around her arm and prayed she wouldn't get an infection.  No one gave her a second glance, because a teen girl  actively  bleeding from her arm wasn’t even in the top ten weirdest things on the New York City subway.

At home, she examined her wound. The edges were glowing and hot, and the bleeding had slowed. Shajarah sighed in relief. Now to find some gauze.

She could sense Taslim on the other side of the door, and she heard his keys jingling.

_“Taslim, I need some help_.”

_“With_ wha…” Taslim’s eyes widened.

_“Where’s the gauze?”_

Taslim dropped the keys, and his breathing grew shallower as the pit in Shajarah’s stomach grew deeper.

She remembered the last time she’d been bleeding from her arm like this.  The self_inflicted wound had been much further down, on her wrist, and had been one of the biggest mistakes Shajarah had made.

The memory coiled in her chest, and she understood what was happening.

_Shit._

* * *

Lincoln Medical Center, May 2016

Two knocks sounded on the door frame of her hospital room. Shajarah didn’t look up from her bandages and IV.

_“Hey, Juh-Juh.”_ He crossed his arms over his chest. _“Can I come in?”_

She didn’t respond.  She’d already answered 1001 questions from a social worker, assuring her that yes, Shajarah felt safe at home.

_“How’re you feeling?”_ Taslim asked from the doorway.

She shrugged.

_“You uh, you really  scared me.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Don’t apologize.”_ Taslim pulled a chair up next to the bed. _“ Just  tell me what you need.”_

Taslim looked calm on the outside, but Shajarah could still sense the turmoil inside him.

_“Nothing.”_

_“Don’t lie.”_

How could she not?! Taslim was barely holding it together, and she  was supposed  to unload all her doubts and guilt onto him? Another reason she wanted to rid of her stupid “enhancements.” They were a curse, plain and simple.

_“This is about Ayeesha, isn’t it?”_

The temperature dropped 2 degrees at the mention of their dead sister.

Taslim sighed. _“It wasn’t your fau-”_

_“I know that!”_ She snapped.

_“Everything happens for a reason. Everything happens because Allah wills it so.”_

_“Did He will Ayeesha dead? Or Mama? Or Baba?”_

Taslim looked down at his clasped hands. _“I don’t know His will, Brem. I do know there’s a plan, bigger than us, and I believe  you are important to that plan. You're blessed with extraordinary abilities. It’s up to you to decide whether you embrace your blessing, or if you ignore it.”_

Shajarah felt hot tears well in her eyes.

_“Get some rest. It’s been a long day.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but something popped up.  
> Thank you for your continued patience and support. We have a family emergency we need to attend to next week, so I don't know when I'll have time to sit down and write.  
> Stay safe and stay healthy!


	16. Giving Thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued patience!

Shajarah didn’t sleep well the next night. Taslim was in the kitchen making breakfast, dark bags under his eyes. She plopped down at the table. 

_ “We have Thanksgiving at the Bisharah’s tonight.”  _ Taslim set a pot of tea to boil.

_ “Are you going to ask Lamisa…?” _

Warily, Taslim looked at her. “I don’t know. I have a lot on my mind."

She looked at her toes.

He sighed. _ “Shajarah...I think you need to stop.” _

_ “Stop what?” _

_ “You know what. I can’t watch you do this to yourself. Until further notice, consider yourself grounded. No more Empathy.” _ The kettle started to hum.

_ “You can’t do that!” _

All protests died on her tongue as Taslim glared at her.

_ “I can, and I am. End of discussion.”  _ The kettle screamed. Taslim began to pour the water into mugs. She would make her case later, when things cooled down. “We need to run down to the store. I volunteered to bake a pie.”

Shajarah perked up. “Pumpkin?”

Taslim set a mug of tea next to her and ran his hand through her hair.  _ “Of course, Brem. It’s Thanksgiving!” _

Batting his hand away, she grumbled. “One, don’t touch the hair. I’ll spend hours getting the knots out.” Taslim laughed at her pain, despite her best murder glare. _ “Two…” _

_ “Don’t call you Brem. I know.” _ He walked back into the kitchen.

_ “If you know, why do you keep doing it?” _

Reemerging with two plates of waffles and syrup, Taslim smiled.  _ “Because you get all grumpy like a toddler.” _

_ “Ha-ha.” _ She mocked.

_ “Exactly.” _

* * *

  
  


__ So her plans moved back a little. She just needed to readjust the timing. In the meantime, she had some revenge to get.

She decided this while standing in the hall with Taslim, dressed in their salwar kameezes.

“Behave, Juh-Juh,” He knocked on the door, Auntie Hanna swung it open, and the smell of turkey and stuffing filled her nose.

“Look at you two! So adorable in your fancy clothes. Come in, come in,” She took the pie from Taslim’s hands and whisked it away to the kitchen. “Take off your shoes.”

“Hey Habibti!” Lamisa emerged from the living room. She was wearing a lavender dress and a matching hijab, which seemed to shimmer in the light. “C’mon! We’re watching Charlie Brown.”

“Isn’t that a kids cartoon?” Taslim asked.

“It’s a classic, that’s what it is.” 

“Is it good?”

“Of course it is. That’s why it’s a classic. If you want to watch it, you’d better hurry. Baba is itching to change it to football.”

Lamisa returned to the living room, Shajarah mimed kissy faces at Taslim, who in turn smacked her arm before following Lamisa.

* * *

Auntie Hanna and Uncle Ramiz began setting the table with mouth-watering dishes of turkey, stuffing, hummus, falafel, and of course, pumpkin pie. Taslim rushed to help, though he was promptly shooed away by Auntie Hanna. When everything was on the circular table, they all took their seats. After a prayer of thanks, they began serving food.

Watching everyone around her eating and laughing, Shajarah felt a warmth in her chest and an ache in her heart. Here she was, sitting with her brother and their choice in family, eating good food under a warm roof. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to join in. It all felt wrong, like dancing skeletons or scary pop music. She’d vowed to bring the missing teens home in time for Thanksgiving dinner. And she’d failed. The thought of them alone in an abandoned building, cold and starving, completely wrecked her appetite. 

Shajarah excused herself to the bathroom. The Bisharahs lived in a first story apartment building, and Shajarah knew there was a window big enough to slip out of if she could just reach it. She took a run up and pulled herself up, opening the window before her socked feet slid down the wall. Standing in the middle of the yellow-tiled bathroom, ready to ditch the only people she could really call family, she took a few deep breaths and centered herself. 

_ Bismillah. _

She pulled herself up and slipped out the window into the chilly alleyway below.

She could ask for forgiveness later. Shajarah had to do the right thing. 


End file.
